


sacred rain

by leftishark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Cock Warming, First Time, M/M, Second Time, Shiro in love, Smut, Spooning, depends on how you're counting, just like a vibe, kind of, service topping from the bottom......?, this is just aesthetic fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftishark/pseuds/leftishark
Summary: soft schmoopy rainy day sexShiro has never believed in heaven, but he believes in Keith.Keith, who pulled Shiro from death and anchors his life. Keith, brave and loyal and more handsome with every passing moment. Keith, who lies naked beside him, gazing at Shiro with his head pillowed on his arm.How long they’ve been like this, Shiro doesn’t know; long enough for breath to slow and heartbeats to settle and fire to burn down to smoldering embers. He could look at Keith for an eternity and never know that time had passed.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 168





	sacred rain

**Author's Note:**

> for the twitter crowd--thank you for 200 (+ now!) and for helping me choose musical inspiration! this fic is based on sentimental by wmd. i encourage you to listen to it before/while you read the fic; it’s a beautiful sheithy song.  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8eQ1m1UGFA)  
> [bandcamp](https://wmdchiptune.bandcamp.com/track/sentimental)  
> [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6BUoI7g4SqXTYRY7836WSX?si=Yljlg08qSLewOgkMOMXlDQ)
> 
> thanks also to robin for looking this over.  
> i hope you all enjoy it!  
> (minor edit 1/5/19)

Shiro has never believed in heaven, but he believes in Keith.

Keith, who pulled Shiro from death and anchors his life. Keith, brave and loyal and more handsome with every passing moment. Keith, who lies naked beside him, gazing at Shiro with his head pillowed on his arm. 

How long they’ve been like this, Shiro doesn’t know; long enough for breath to slow and heartbeats to settle and fire to burn down to smoldering embers. He could look at Keith for an eternity and never know that time had passed.

“It’s raining,” Keith says quietly.

He’s right: the light has dimmed to a warm gray that softens the edges of the room, and a few scattered droplets splash against the closed window pane. Through the open one drifts a cool breeze, and with it the smell of parched earth coming to life as it drinks the first joyous tears fallen from the sky.

To speak of something as miraculously mundane as the weather in a moment like this—Shiro doesn’t laugh (not like earlier, their giddy, nervous newness bubbling out over fumbling hands, a spirited storm before the same day’s calm), but he smiles faintly at how incongruously fitting it is. 

Rain. Keith. Life.

Keith leans in and brushes his lips just next to Shiro’s eye, making the corner of it crinkle up in amusement. Shiro’s nose is next, then his forehead; Keith’s mouth grazes his cheek, the edge of his jaw, the point of his chin. Shiro doesn’t realize he’s tilting toward him until Keith kisses his mouth and he can taste Keith’s smile on his own.

Shiro loves the way Keith kisses him, lush and full, like there’s nothing he’d rather do, nowhere he’d rather be than here kissing Shiro. His movements are surer than before, more centered and entirely without pretense, as he is in all things, and always is with Shiro. He kisses with his whole being in the press of their lips and bodies together, legs tangling and space melting between them.

There’s no hurry here, nowhere to go: this is kissing for the pleasure of kissing. And yet it transforms Shiro, carving out the ugliest parts of him and holding them just as precious as the good and beautiful—and Shiro _does_ believe he is good, and beautiful; he has to when Keith touches him like this.

Their kisses slow and soften once more to lingering touches, a fleeting graze of teeth, a simple press of lips. Keith moves back to watch his fingers trace the planes of Shiro’s body, exploring the shape of him.

He touches the join of skin to metal at Shiro’s shoulder, drifts across his collar bone and down the swell of his pecs, traverses the swell of his bicep to the hollow of his elbow. His hand wanders along the path of some unseen force as a meandering stream follows gravity, leaving trickles of sensation that build slowly to arousal. Shiro lets him. Sometime—sometime soon, he hopes—he’ll give Keith everything, take Keith apart with his hands and mouth and cock and show Keith all he knows and wants. But Shiro senses that Keith needs this now, that he will thrive on being the one to guide them through; he will bloom given the chance to express through touch what he has spoken in words and demonstrated in action. Shiro giving himself over to Keith is another way to care for him, a way to love him, give him pleasure.

Shiro has never wanted quite like this before: profoundly, yet without desperation. Something deep inside him is calling for Keith, has been waiting since some nebulous beginning and will wait for the rest of time. As herds migrate when the seasons change and as a seed sprouts in nourishing sun and rain, Shiro and Keith are coming together, instinctual, inevitable.

When Keith’s hand moves tentatively farther behind to the opposing curves of his lower back and rear, Shiro follows the motion and tips toward him, exposing himself. He stretches luxuriously on his front, arm reaching away from his toes. A wave of pleasure and pride rolls through him at Keith’s expression, awed and longing and growing hungrier.

Shiro watches Keith watch the point of contact between them. He moves his own hand to cover Keith’s and drag it in, in, until Keith’s fingers dip into the crease of his ass.

Keith’s eyes flicker up to Shiro’s, nervous, yes, but equally aroused and determined. The intense focus he always fixes on what he finds worthwhile pins Shiro where he lies, and Shiro levelly returns his gaze, trying to convey the depth of his wanting,. Keith plays his finger over Shiro’s hole, feeling out the dip of it as he did the rest of him, brushing and stroking and unknowingly teasing until Shiro yearns for it inside him, arching his hips up to seek more. The corner of Keith’s mouth quirks up.

Maybe not unknowing, then.

Shiro shoves lazily at Keith’s thigh as Keith crawls across him and reaches to the side of the bed. Corded muscle flexes under his palm, and he trails it up along Keith’s hip and side as Keith slides back down, fingers slicked when they return to Shiro’s ass.

Keith moves with reverence and curiosity, his finger long and slim, satisfying while promising more. The stretch is no stranger to Shiro but exhilarating from a hand that’s not his own—from Keith’s hand—and it deepens when Keith slips another finger in. Shiro would let Keith learn to wring pleasure from him with his fingers but for the hard line of Keith’s cock against his hip—he wants it. Shiro rolls onto his side so that his ass presses against Keith’s groin.

“Yeah?” Keith whispers. “You want me…”

“In me,” Shiro says. He looks over his shoulder. “Please.”

Shiro curls one leg up to invite Keith in and reaches back to brush his fingers through Keith’s hair. The sheets are smooth under his side.

“ _Oh_ … Shiro,” Keith breathes with his mouth open against Shiro’s skin and his cock hard and hot and opening him so sweetly. His arms come up to wrap snugly around Shiro’s chest. He chants Shiro’s name like a prayer as he thrusts further and further into him until his hips are flush with Shiro’s ass.

“Shiro,” Keith says again, and then falls silent.

Shiro thinks sympathetically and a little self-satisfied of how _much_ it feels to enter another for the first time. “Good?”

Keith mumbles something incoherent into Shiro’s back, squeezing his arms tighter. Everything feels unbelievably _right_ with him spooning Shiro from behind. The point of Keith’s nose digs in between Shiro’s shoulderblades; the flutter of his eyelashes tickles his skin; his chest is solid and warm at his back; his arms are strong around him. Shiro wants to bathe in the pleasure of it for a while.

“Stay,” Shiro murmurs, a prayer in return. “Just like this.” Keith hums and kisses his back in agreement.

If heaven exists, it must be this: surrounded and filled by Keith, cradled in his arms. They breathe in and out together, lungs filling with rain-fresh air, and Shiro lets himself slow and relax until the boundary between his body and Keith’s begins to fade. He feels—

safe

held

loved.

Heaven.

Shiro floats among the clouds.

*

He comes back down before he fully loses himself to Keith’s fingers trailing lightly up his chest and down to his belly, reawakening his senses and his arousal. He catches Keith’s hand and draws it up to kiss his knuckles, meaning it as a promise; Keith answers with his own, unfurling his fingers so Shiro’s lips brush his palm and spreading them across Shiro’s face like he’s trying to memorize its topography.

The rain falls heavier now, no longer a muted patter but a gentle roar outside the intimate warmth of their bedroom. Shiro’s desire, too, has grown.

Holding Keith’s hand in his, Shiro grinds his hips back, seeking friction and Keith’s cock deeper inside him. Keith mirrors the motion and then some, rocking in and out with growing confidence until the force of his thrusts tips them over so that Shiro is flat on his front, Keith rutting into him from above.

It feels good to be taken like this; Keith’s cock strikes pleasure inside him and the _down down down_ of their bodies pushes Shiro’s cock against the bed. Before long Shiro is gasping, desire amplified by its very fulfillment, but the feeling of the sheets underneath him leaves him wanting even as he reaches back for Keith. He needs—

“Keith,” Shiro pleads, “Keith—I—”

Keith lets out a rough sound. “What do you—tell me—”

“You,” Shiro says, otherwise incoherent. 

Keith slows, understanding. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is low, raspy, equal parts desperate and determined. “Yeah, Shiro, I—I got you.”

He pulls out with all the care in the world, his hands never straying from Shiro’s skin as Shiro turns over and easing the loss, like he too can’t stand to be parted. Shiro reaches for him as Keith surges forward, and they meet somewhere in the middle in a thorough, needy kiss, lips and tongues tangling in search of closeness. Keith cradles his head to lower Shiro back down, and he grasps Shiro’s hand to press it into the mattress, and he keeps kissing him.

In the distance, thunder rumbles low, the heavens purring their contentment. Shiro vaguely registers the urge to brush his hand over his navel, a superstitious habit to cover it in such weather lest the god of storms steal it away—but Keith is here now to protect him, and he’s covering Shiro’s vulnerable belly with his own the way they’re pressed together all the way down.

How absurd that they’re alive and together and in love. How impossible that the universe could be any other way.

Looking up at Keith when he enters Shiro again is an otherworldly experience. There’s a wild elegance in the lines of his limbs, like this is something he was made to do. Every twitch of effort and pleasure shows plainly on his face, mouth falling open and eyes fluttering closed on a few long strokes until he’s all the way in, his cock in Shiro feeling like relief. And then they move together.

Keith fucks like he kisses, all the power coiled tightly in his hips driving pleasure into Shiro like he’s trying to give him everything he has. Enthusiasm lends him grace and confidence: another thing to love about him, Shiro thinks wonderingly until he ceases to think at all. He arches his back and shifts his hips and clenches around Keith’s cock, making Keith tear his mouth away from laying kisses along Shiro’s chest to gasp out shuddering breaths. He fucks Shiro harder, wilder, destroying him like lightning in the sky only to fill the cracked and broken pieces of him with gold.

Shiro comes on a silent gasp, gulping in air—life—Keith—as pleasure pulses through him and around Keith’s cock, _love love love_ ringing in his ears. Never has Shiro felt more alive; never felt more that he wants to live. He frees his hand from Keith’s grasp and holds Keith to him, needing him more than ever, until Keith’s breath and hips stutter to stillness deep inside him and he whimpers a soft cry into Shiro’s chest.

Shiro is alive, and he’s in heaven. 

Shiro strokes Keith’s hair as they come down, grounding both of them to each other. Their heaving breaths paint an uneven rhythm against the murmuring rain—rain that has the power to give life and take it, nourishing and cyclical and dangerous in excess. The danger thrills Shiro as much as the rest soothes him; it’s part of life, part of love. 

Shiro feels languidly fucked out and pleasantly full. The warm glow after outstanding sex is almost as good as sex itself, and he is unabashedly pleased that he gets to share this with Keith, whose body radiates contentment.

Keith is gently reluctant when he pulls out, leaving sticky wetness in his wake. He leans over Shiro, braced on his hands. He looks powerful above Shiro, shoulders wide over his narrow waist, the angles of his face noble and proud—but vulnerable, too, exposed, his expression hiding nothing.

Shiro _loves_ this man.

Keith bends to him, slow and almost delicate after what they were just doing, and kisses the corner of Shiro’s eye like he did before. It’s cool when he draws away—wet, Shiro realizes, and when Keith mirrors the gesture on the other side, Shiro’s tears flow freely at the tenderness of it.

Shiro brings his hand up to cup Keith’s cheek as his vision blurs, holding it over the scar. Keith’s expression folds, and his tears fall to join Shiro’s, two tributaries flowing into a river.

There’s nothing to do but let go. They kiss through their tears until emotion and sensation wash through them and away, leaving Shiro feeling cleansed and satisfied and pleasantly exhausted. He pulls Keith down to lie on his chest, holding him. 

Keith tilts his head up to gaze at Shiro, chin resting on Shiro’s chest. “What are you thinking about?” he says.

Everything at once and nothing at all. Shiro’s mind is settled, not focused on any one of countless thoughts and feelings as they fade in and out. Comfort. Wonder. Drying tears, sweat, and come; the smell of sex. The sheets wrinkled under him, the room all around, a small space just for them in an expanding universe, and the feeling of Keith’s body heavy on his. 

Keith, always Keith. The struggles they’ve endured and the ones yet to come, the profound joy of being together. The good and the bad and the ugly and the beautiful—Shiro will embrace it all with Keith. 

Shiro smiles. “Life with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i love comments and kudos and i would love to hear your thoughts <3 i'm on twitter [@leftishark_](twitter.com/leftishark_)
> 
> thank you for reading!


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